


【DV】战争AU—To my beloved Virgilio

by shuigenwoshu



Series: 【DV】短篇合集 [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, Sad, War, but still hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuigenwoshu/pseuds/shuigenwoshu
Summary: This article is for my lovely Spanish speaking reader. I really like the form of Virgil's name she wrote, Virgilio, so beautiful (also is my original inspiration). Dante should be able to speak Spanish (before he jumped the tree he said Adiós, which means good bye, may or may not see each other again). So imagine a picture saying this name in Spanish only belongs to Virgil, what would be?This article is also dedicated to morinona_hibikiI wanted to write Spanish, but I didn't know a word of Spanish, so I wrote English version, sorry此文送给我的西语读者，我超喜欢她写出的哥的名字，Virgilio，维吉里奥（也是我最初的灵感来源），但丁应该会说西语（DMC5跳树前说的那句Adiós，再见，意味着双方可能再次相见，也可能不会再见），所以设想一下，用西语说出这个只属于维吉尔的名字，该是怎样画面（恕我直言，维吉这个称呼略显生硬，我更喜欢多音节单词）此文也献给激发创造热情的森森老师（军装哥和蛋）（一文二送厚颜无耻的我，有罪），森森我对不起你，我会再写一篇给你的（或许是土豪那个，但我不一定保证XD）我原本想写西语，然而我西语一个字都不会，所以我写英文版，老福特中文版，三儿是英文版，SY是两个版本都有
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: 【DV】短篇合集 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112033
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	【DV】战争AU—To my beloved Virgilio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jos/gifts), [morinona_hibiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morinona_hibiki/gifts).



[episode in this novel](https://youtu.be/czkHUOc3u5s)

I was lying in a hospital bed with thick plaster cast on my legs. It was very difficult to turn over. And it was also hard to keep a posture still.

But I can't complain. I was just broken, my limbs were built, and I was not disabled. I should feel lucky compared to my comrade who howled at night because of phantom pain caused by amputation.

Carles came to see me, carrying a few oranges, and the pockmarked skin suggested not to have unrealistic expectations of the edible parts inside.

I sat up.

He scowled and pretended to be happy. "You look better."

"You look worse," I blurted out.

"Really," Carles said with a tired smile, "maybe I should go to the hospital and lie down."

I was stunned for a moment and didn't know how to react.

He was also aware of the mistake, and quickly bowed his head, "this is a terrible joke."

Yeah, it's a terrible joke.

"Are you here to tell me bad jokes? Stand up crosstalk is not for you! " I changed the subject with a smile.

"Ah, this," he suddenly took out a black knapsack from behind. "This is Dante's stuff. I, we think it's better to give it to you."

"Why?" Although full of doubts, I still reached for it.

The surface of the bag was badly worn, and the thread came out everywhere. Only the zipper was shiny and smooth. Several dark red plaques.

I was not sure if it's a pattern or a blood clot, but what was the difference? They were all things that can't be washed off.

"Dante is an orphan and you have the best relationship with him in the team, so you are more qualified than all of us to keep this."

I opened my mouth, but Carles's next word succeeded in closing them.

"This is the only thing Dante has left. Take it."

"See that tree on the hillside?"

I squinted at the distance, the only big tree with yellow leaved on the bulging hill and nodded.

"That's it," said the old man, sitting on the steps of the broken house, looking at me with his turbid eyes, and finally affirming, "you are not local."

"No, just asked by a friends to visit his hometown."

The old man murmured indifferently, "all the young people in the village have left. Most of them may have died. The rest of them are hopping around in unknown places. No one has ever come back, no one has......”

Ignoring him, I stepped over the low stone fence and stepped on the withered grass to the top of the mountain.

Around the thick trunk of Ginkgo biloba, I finally found the tumor mentioned in the letter near the bottom of the tree root.

I squatted down and felt the twisted and ugly folds. There was a small piece of flat bark inside, on which were carved two letters, "V & D" which were almost covered by the healing bark.

"That’s it," I said to myself, taking a shovel out of my satchel and digging.

The wind blowing, golden leaves fell on the iron box. I picked up one and stir the leaf stem.

There was a deep crack in the front of the shell shaped fan-shaped leaf surface. The crack degree was almost 2 / 3 of the leaf, so this was a male ginkgo tree?

Looking up, the golden butterfly stopped at the top of the tree and danced with the branches, dividing the warm autumn sun into a sparkling lake.

In the background, the sky was so blue and vast, clean like a polished mirror.

I couldn't help but get deep into it. In this beautiful gold and quiet blue, my brain naturally made up a scene.

It was the hillside where the withered grass turned into a field, and one boy running happily chased the other, all thin and silver haired.

The difference was that the pursuer's hair was slightly longer carried by the wind, and covered the stains on his face in disorder.

His back looked as if he was all made up of broken stones and on the verge of losing control at any time.

The chaser, with a smile and white hair, can stick to his head even if he ran against the wind. Sometimes he waved his hands and shot loudly. Sometimes he stopped to observe and waited patiently.

It seemed that he was giving the other one a chance to catch up with himself. But some how, when another little boy was approaching, he turned around quickly and continued to run deep into the field.

I put backpack down and poured everything on the bed.

In addition to a flat wine pot, a few small epaulets, a broken pocket watch that won't go for a minute, there was a black iron box with a length of one hand and a width of half a palm, about ten centimeters high. Needless to say, it was rusty and can't even see the original color.

Opened it, a stack of letters lied inside. No postmark, no address, the same name at the beginning.

So those were written to the same person?

so many! I estimated the thickness, at least 30 of them had not been sent out? How strange!

Randomly I picked out a letter that had obvious indentation and could be folded many times.

_"Dear Virgilio:_

_Do you remember me? Maybe don't, because I can't remember your any more. Hahaha, it seems wrong to say that. We are twins. I just need to look in the mirror to know what you look like._

_But that's the problem. Every day I looked in the mirror, I can’t help but thinking of you. I thought what you will become after all these years._

_I've read reports that some twins will change their looks after they are separated, so I wonder if you will still be the same as you were when you grow up. Still don't like long hair hanging on the side of the ear, so always using "something I don't know" to fix the perfect comb in the back of the head, or do you finally figured it out now, simply changed the style and leaved it as a simple hedgehog head? I guess the big probability is still the former, because it is more suitable for you._

_By the way, a question has been lingering in my mind for many years. How can you do the same farm work as me every day and still be clean? I don't understand. Are you lazy on purpose? Don't you feel ashamed to cheat on your younger brother? .......”_

Opened second pages, the letter was still full of roast, made complaints about childhood with joy and warm. 

Suddenly I felt a little disappointed.

Dante and I had a friendship of seven or eight years, but I never heard him mentioned that he had a twin brother with good feelings. Was it my incompetent as a friend or was this friendship the product of my self indulgence?

I put away this one and opened another one that looked older and yellowed at the edge of the paper.

Compared with the previous one, the handwriting was much more immature and the degree of painting was more serious. Almost every sentence was repeatedly modified, and with the characteristics of the first letter: No pause to the end.

The original flat paper was crumpled by suspicious water marks. Somehow, my first feeling was tears.

But Dante, who bowed his head and cried and wrote a lette? I shook my head and laughed, it was impossible. 

_"Dear ~~brother~~ Virgilio:_

_They said that if I write name as my brother, and the envelope is lost, you will never get it and you will never see it, so don't be angry with me if I use this name. ~~I regret~~ when we separated I regret at once, I wanted to go back, but I didn’t have enough courage, I was a useless person, I let you down and I also let Dad down, I was sorry, for you, dad and mom, please forgave me. I was in the car crying all the time. I didn't know why I cried until they picked me out of the car. ~~Then I found out that I was alone. I knew why I cried because of you.~~ I miss you, ~~but I didn't want to be hungry.~~ Why didn't you go with me? ~~You knew waht you made the most wrong decision!~~ I didn't understand why! I knew why you want to stay there, but I didn't understand. Isn't it more important to survive than anything? You are always so stubborn and don't listen to anyone's advice. I told you they are good people. Why didn't you believe me? ~~Was it so hard to believe in others!~~ They later went to see you, but you were no longer there. They helped me bury mom. They said that you should have left by yourself, but I didn't believe that you would rather be separated from me in order to stay there. I didn't believe that you will leave by yourself, so no matter who took you away, I will find you, I promised. But if you go by yourself, I'll also find you and beat you up. I'll do it! Mark my word!_

_Your Dante "_

There was no date, but I guessed it was written not long after Dante was picked up by Morrison.

Dante was a strong man,so strong almost cold. I had never seen him really cry. It was always sad silence at most.

In fact, as a mercenary, after getting used to cruel, bloody and unbearable pictures, your heart will be coated with a hard metal shell. It seemed that nothing can touch you any more.

Only indifference smile and satirical snort left, but more often there was only a helpless sigh.

I panted and picked up a letter which was written on a piece of clean and fresher paper.

_"Dear Virgilio:_

_This is probably the last time I write to you, because I can't think of a reason to go on writing. Are you still alive? If you're still alive, are you married or alone?_

_If you get married, do you have any children? Perhaps a lovely boy, he will be as serious as you or as naughty as me?_

_Excuse me, but I can't help say that, you know twins are likely to give birth a child that more like the other half because twins have almost the same DNA. But if we do have the same DNA, will you miss me as much as I miss you? If you miss me, why don't you come to me?_

_I have never doubted like now, once the scene now it seems to be a dream, you are just my illusory character, never existed. I know I’m talking stupid again. If you were your childhood self, you probably knocked my head and say, "stupid Dante, look at the necklace on your chest. If I'm imaginary, what about your other half of the necklace?"_

_But you see, this is the problem. I can only imagine you as a child. We have been separated for too long. I'm not sure if you still remember me, if you still want to be found by me, whether you accept me now. So, I think, if you have lived a peaceful life, please go on, dear brother, and live with my share._

_Therefore, I solemnly declare that, damn it, I want to laugh again when my mind comes back to you as a boy. I declare that, my beloved Virgilio, I will not write to you any more, and I will not look for you any more. Let us become memories of each other, and become the best of us._

_If you receive this letter, please regard it as a kind blessing from an old friend._

_Love you forever, Dante. "_

Forget each other?

I can't help but think of the song Dante used to sing. 

**"When I'm tired**

**I stop and turn around**

**The shadow behind me become longer and longer**

**I only have tears in my eyes**

**The road is still far away, and the slope is still long..."**

It was the first time I heard him sing. In the ruins, clear piano, happy minor. Now, looking at the last letter still unsent in my hand, maybe I was wrong.

Dante was a man with rich feelings. He just hided too deeply and forgot too long and did not know how to express it any more.

I was squatting on a piece of broken brick and tile, trying to dig something valuable out of the ruins.

Then I turned around and saw Dante standing in a house whose roof was bombed by bombers, but a piano was miraculously intact in the living room.

"Really? You can play the piano? " I made fun of it.

Dante didn't answer. Instead, he waved the dust away from the surface of the piano and picked up the broken chair without a back, lifted the cover of the piano looking at the black and white keys seriously.

FUCK! Was he serous?

I suddenly got interested and walked over.

He leaned his sniper gun against the leg of the piano, pulled back his gloves and tucked it into his pocket, crossed his fingers, shook his wrists, and turned his neck, saying, "I haven't played it for a long time. Maybe I forgot, but having a try. Maybe I still feel it."

I took a flat wine pot out of my pocket and handed it to him, “Maybe a drink will wash out your nervous. Be casual, I don’t know much about piano, so if you play badly, I will never figure out. By the way, who taught you? To be honest, I always felt like you, "racking my brains for a less straightforward word.

"You mean this elegant art doesn't match me?" Dante looked up at me with a grin.

I was embarrassed and scratched my helmet. "That's what you said, not me! But, seriously, when did you learn it? "

"That had happened long befor from a gifted brat."

Although the mouth said brat, but the expression on the face showed the opposite meaning, so I guessed this 80% from a beautiful but regret missing fate.

It was hard for us, who are panting for the last second but were likely to become corpses the next, to have a lasting and intimate relationship with "others" (I mean outsiders).

If we didn't know each other, we were strangers. My life and death had nothing to do with you. You can’t be sad.

But if you knew me, understood me, my name was sealed with your mouth, my appearance was engraved in your heart, you may not help thinking about me, longing for me, worrying about me, even falling in love with me.

Now, if I died, what did you do? Even I died, I was no longer at ease when I thought of my beloved's agony.

I will be afraid of death, because I want to live, with the people I love. But for soldiers, the most dangerous thing was hesitation.

Dante randomly pressed out a few notes. "It's OK. It doesn't need to be tuned."

It was really professional. Were you sure you've forgotten or simply modest?

He cleared his throat and pressed each key with his rough fingers covered with mud and blood, and the rich male voice sounded with the smooth sound of the piano.

**"I wanted to resist the wind from the north with you**

**The north wind is calling and the cold is biting**

**Wandering people are only in the whirlpool**

**Stop when you are tired**

**Turn around and turn around**

**Just stand up**

**The wind is still strong**

**How far is the road**

**I wanted to go through the road of love with you**

**There's only the feeling of being abandoned on the road**

**The vagrant is only strong "**

Morrison stopped the motorcade in front of a house that had been bombed to pieces.

Two small, bruised, silver haired boys were sitting in the rubble, and a body covered with a rag blanket was piled on the wheelbarrow next to them. By hanging her arms, it can be judged that that was a woman who had been dead for many days.

"Hey, don't be afraid. Come with us. It's not safe here," he hid his machine gun behind him, trying to make his gray faced and bloodstained look like a friendly uncle from next door.

"We are good people. Come on, you must have been here for a long time. Are you hungry? Come on, we have something to eat.”

"Captain, we can't stay here too long!" Enzo held the steering wheel in both hands and nervously toured around, reminding him in a quick tone, "It's more convenient if you just catch them!"

One of those little boys with longer hair moved and tried to run over, but turned to look at his brother.

The short haired boy closed his mouth and looked warily at Morrison, shaking his head slightly.

"But they have food," the boy with longer hair hesitated. He took his companion's hand and shook them, "Please, Let's go, Virgilio, I..."

The other one will still stay eyes on Morrison, frown red eyebrows, and firmly said, "We can't leave this place, I promised dad."

"Where is your father?" Morrison asked aloud. He actually had a guess why those two boys were here, with little hope, waiting for a family who might never show up.

The boy bit his lower lip and said nothing.

He probably knew the answer himself. 

"Come on," Morrison waved,"We'll take care of everything." 

He glanced at the long haired kid who was constantly shifting his eyes between himself and the short haired boy.

He raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eyes, and a section of white skin appeared on the gray protruding small face.

He also knew why, at that moment, Morrison was determined to take them away no matter how.

"Believe me, we are good people, but now, we can't stay here too long, and it's not safe for you to stay here. I need you to go with us!"

"No, I promised him!" Refuse decisively.

Someone in the front of the car beckoned with gestures, urging Morrison.

The boy with long hair should have seen it, and he said, "we should go with them."

"No, you promised dad," the betrayal from his brother made another boy angry. He threw his hand away and roared, "you lied to me and now lied to them. Didn't you learn what they taught you?"

"They taught me to take care of my brother! What did they teach you? " Aggrieved and unconvinced.

"They taught me to keep my promise," the short haired boy suddenly calmed down and looked at his angry brother seriously. 

"If we don't bury them, who will bury them?" 

The falling tears broke through the blood clot on the right cheek, leaving a crooked water mark.

"We'll help you, boy. I swear, come with us!" Morrison jumped out of the car.

"Sir, we don't have time. Let's go." Enzo pulled on the shift lever and signaled with a spurt of gas implying that they were really going.

He turned to look at the boys who were still fighting with each other.

"Sir, why don't we just take one?" Someone suggested.

"I'm going with them!" The long haired boy suddenly cried, his voice trembling, as if struggling on the edge of crying.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have scolded you," the boy with short hair walked over, hugged his brother tightly and buried his head in another one’s neck. 

"But if you go with them, we'll be separated. We'll both be alone in the future.”

The boy in his arms pushed his brother away and said with a little pleading, "then you go with me."

And then regardless of the matter, he grabbed his brother’s sleeve and dragged to Morrison.

The obstinate brother refused ruthlessly, even kicking his brother down. But when he saw the boy with long hair sitting on the gravel in pain, he subconsciously reached out his hand. Somehow, it was blocked by will and forced to take back.

The child who only looked down and rubbed his buttocks didn't see this scene. When he looked up again, he was full of resentment, "if you don't go, I'll go!"

"Sir, we must go!" Exclaimed Enzo.

Morrison picked up the long haired boy and finally asked the boy, who seemed to have made up his mind.

He did not move, however, fixing his eyes on his brother, who was leaning against Morrison's shoulder and began to sob silently. 

The boy said hoarsely, "I promised dad," and turned to hold the handle of the wheelbarrow, said repeatedly, "I promised dad."

Morrison looked at him for the last time and regretfully closed the door under the constant pressure of his teammates.

The End


End file.
